Come Together Over Me
by and her magical cat Roscoe
Summary: Pam finds a little thing like an old snapshot can make you see things in a whole new way. Prequel to Volcada and a salute to Stanford9. Be warned, this story will test your assumptions about life, the Beatles, and everything.


**Come Together… Over Me**

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life.

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_There's a moment in The Newlywed Game when Bill runs into the church and finds Pam in her wedding gown. There's a look between them that... well, I'm just saying, there's a look. _

_This story isn't about that. It takes place a few weeks before and is completely unrelated. Probably._

_UPDATE (4 December 05)_

_Okay, so maybe it's not so unrelated…_

_This story is now the prequel to **Volcada**, an epic tale of love and the Tango. Volcada can be found under Ratings T and M. _

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Pam and Ralph stood whispering outside the door to Bill's walk-up apartment.

"So it's definitely Luigi's?" Ralph hissed.

"I think so," she answered under her breath. "The food's good and it's not too expensive, but it's fancy enough to seem special."

"Okay," Ralph said, "I'll-"

He broke off as the door sprang open.

"Oh, it's you," Bill said. "I thought there was a gas leak out here."

Bill stood in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. Pam was always a little amazed at the way that big, toothy smile transformed his angular features. He looked more like a boy of 17 than a hard-bitten 50-something Federal agent when he flashed that smile.

"Well, come on in," he said, waving them through the door. "Just gimme a minute."

Ralph moved aside to let her pass and Pam stepped into the tiny studio apartment. Command Post was probably a more appropriate term, she thought. As always, maps and files and surveillance photographs littered every flat surface.

Tonight, she noticed, there was a new element added to the clutter. Shreds of silver-white paper were scattered on the floor and there was a balled-up wad of Scotch tape stuck to Bill's ladder-back chair.

Ralph pushed the door closed with snap as Bill crouched down and rummaged under the bed.

"So, where we going?" he said over his shoulder. "Anyplace you want. My treat."

Pam and Ralph exchanged a quick glance.

When Bill had called to say he wanted to take them out to celebrate their engagement, they had decided they needed to come up with something that had a "steak and champagne" atmosphere without breaking Bill's "chili dog and draft beer" budget. She was glad they had had their hallway discussion.

"We were thinking Luigi's on Melrose," Ralph said. "Pam loves their baked fettucini and they have a really nice chianti."

"Osso bucco. Love it," Bill said from the floor. "Good choice."

Ralph clapped his hands.

"Great!" he said, "That was easy. I parked on the corner. We'll just-"

"Uh, before we do that," Bill said, standing up slowly. "I, uh-"

As he turned around, Pam saw he was holding a square, flat package. It was wrapped in white paper with a silver filigree pattern.

He looked down at the package for a long moment, then thrust it out toward them.

"Here," he said briskly, "It's, uh, it's just a little... For you. Two."

They stood frozen. Pam saw Bill's mouth move in the familiar little bow shape it made when he was worried. His eyes went wide with that soulful puppy-dog look that always made her stomach give a strange flutter.

"Ah," he said, "It's, uh, a present. Thing."

She blinked and stepped toward him.

"Oh, Bill," she said, "We weren't expecting-"

She shot a look at Ralph over her shoulder. His eyebrows were up in his hairline. He was evidently as startled as she was. She looked back at Bill.

"Bill, this is very thoughtful of you," she said slowly, taking the slim package from his hands. "Thank you very much."

She heard him exhale as his shoulders relaxed. Pam looked down at the package and smiled. The corners were creased with dozens of aborted folds. She turned it over and saw he'd used at least half the roll of tape securing the paper.

Ralph's grin matched her own as he stepped to her side.

"Bill, I don't know what to say."

Ralph brushed a hand over the package as if he wasn't quite sure it was real.

"This is great. Thank you."

"Well, you don't know what it is, yet," Bill said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Pam was trying to pick a corner of the mass of tape free.

"Is she going to take all day?" Bill said.

"She's a 'folder'," Ralph said in a confidential whisper. "She has still has paper from her Sweet Sixteen party."

Pam glared at him.

"I only save it when it's special," she said. "And this is special."

She flashed a smile at Bill and saw the color rise in his cheeks before he looked down and started to pick at a loose thread on the bedspread.

A corner of the paper came free in her hand and she carefully pried the folds back.

"It's an album," she said, showing Ralph the edge of the cardboard sleeve.

"Yeah, I knew you guys like music so," Bill said, still pulling at the thread.

She peeled the paper away and laid it carefully on the chair before she turned the album over in her hands. Her eyes widened. The cover showed the familiar image of the four Beatles in mid-stride on a zebra-striped street crossing.

She held it up to Ralph. He blinked. They turned to Bill simultaneously. He was looking up at them with anxious eyes.

"Bill," she said, "This is a great gift. I love Abbey Road."

"Yeah, Bill."

Ralph took the album from her outstretched hands and turned it over.

"Thanks, man, I-"

He peered at the back cover.

"What's this?"

Pam looked down and saw handwriting in a heavy marker.

Ralph read, "To Bill, from the boys. Guess which one is for you? John, Paul, George, Richard."

Ralph looked up.

"I don't know where to start," he said. "You knew the Beatles? Knew them so well that Ringo went by Richard? Where it says, 'Which one is for you?' What does that mean? Bill, this is-"

He broke off and stood staring at the inscription.

Pam took the record from his hands and studied the signatures.

"Let's start with 'You knew the Beatles'," she said slowly.

Bill shrugged and broke into a relieved smile.

"Ah, there's not much to it. I don't listen to it much and I thought you'd like it," he said. "I don't normally go in for that stuff, but it's kinda catchy. Good beat, you know, and-"

"Bill," she said warningly. "Answer the question."

He shrugged.

"Like I said, there's not much to it. I was doing a job in London in '66," he said. "There was some trouble with a bunch of weirdo cult-freaks and this ring of Richard's. I got the boys out of a jam."

He shrugged. "We kind of stayed in touch after that. Ready to eat?"

Ralph leaned against the door with his arms crossed.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Buster," he said. "I happen to be a pretty big Beatles fan. That story you just told sounds an awful lot like the plot of 'Help!'"

Bill rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, they told me they were going to use it for the movie," he said. "What could I do? They said they wouldn't blow my cover and they didn't."

He nodded at the album in Pam's hands.

"By the time that came out," he said. "I had a new code name."

"Code name?" Pam said, scanning the text on the cover. "What-"

Her eyes lit on a song title and she gasped.

"'Maxwell's… Silver Hammer'?" she said. "Your code name was Silver Hammer?"

"It didn't last long," he said. "The Ruskies intercepted-"

"Wait a minute," Ralph broke in. "I know that's not about you. Paul says it's just a made up story about unpleasant surprises."

"Yeah, I thought it was an unpleasant surprise," Bill said, leaning back on the bed. "I was ticked. Song about a guy that goes around whacking people with a hammer. Weird. But I figured he couldn't very well write a song about Bill Maxwell, Secret Agent. Interpol mighta had something to say about that."

He shrugged.

"I got over it. He was always being arty that way."

Pam looked over at Ralph. He stood staring at Bill, looking like he'd just been told the agent was on the short list to be the next Pope.

Bill pushed himself up off the bed with a sigh.

"Alright," he said, crossing to the kitchen. "If this is the only way we're going to get dinner, I'm sure I've got something-"

He rummaged through a couple of drawers to the accompaniment of rattling silverware.

"Ah," he said and pulled out a snapshot photograph. "Here you go."

He turned and handed it to Ralph.

"Pictures don't lie," he said, then grimaced.

"Well, yeah, sometimes they do," he went on. "But not this one."

Pam moved to peer over Ralph's shoulder.

"That's India," Bill was saying. "1968."

The picture showed Ringo, John, and Paul sitting on the steps of a garden outside a wooden house. John and Paul were playing guitars while Ringo watched. Leaning out the window behind them, there was Bill, looking young and lean in a green v-neck pullover.

"Wow, Bill," Ralph was saying, "I don't know what to say. This is amazing."

Pam was still staring at the picture. She'd never really noticed how well Bill's strong jaw complemented his broad shoulders. Or how long and graceful his hands were. Or how good he looked in green.

And it happened just that fast, she thought later. One minute he was Bill Maxwell, Federal agent, friend and part-time pain in the neck. The next minute, he was Bill Maxwell, walking charisma machine, and she was wondering why she'd never noticed it before.

"Pam?"

"Hmm?" she looked up. Ralph was staring at her curiously.

"I said, we can talk about it some more over dinner."

"Yeah," she said a little breathlessly. "Dinner. Um..."

Bill was staring at her, too. His eyes were hazel. She always thought they were brown.

She blinked.

"Yes," she said quickly, turning to put the picture down on the chair. "We'd better go. Now. I'm starved!"

She flashed them a smile she hoped looked eager and not just frantic.

Bill gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter. She saw him fight not to grin as he shrugged into his jacket. It took a strenuous effort not to watch the way the muscles of his arms moved under the light fabric.

She tried to step back as Ralph opened the door and suddenly felt as if she had too many feet and not enough legs. She stumbled back and felt strong hands grip her shoulders. Her back met the solid warmth of Bill's chest and she gave a little cry of surprise. She half turned to look up into his wide eyes and the next sound she made would haunt her for years to come.

She giggled.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Ralph heard it. His eyes narrowed as his mouth pursed in a tight frown.

And Bill heard it. She had never seen his face go so blank. His expressive features were completely motionless, but his eyes were shining as he looked down at her. Then he turned to the still-glowering Ralph.

"Hey," he said. "I think your fiancée here is faint with hunger. Let's get this show on the road."

"Yes," Ralph said through gritted teeth. "Let's."

He made an expansive gesture, ushering them through the door.

Pam didn't realize Bill was still holding her shoulders until he let go. She straightened and carefully smoothed her hair.

"Yes," she said carefully. "Let's."

She avoided Ralph's eyes as they stood in the hall waiting for Bill to lock the door. She pivoted on her heel and started toward the stairs before he turned around. She heard his keys rattle in his pocket as the men's footsteps sounded behind her.

"Remind me to tell you," Bill said casually. "About the accordion track I laid down for Rocky Raccoon."

She could almost hear the internal struggle going on in Ralph's head before he finally answered.

"Accordion track?" he said at last. "You played your accordion on a Beatles album?"

"Yeah," Bill answered. "John and me got talking about it one day. Accordion was his first instrument, ya know. He wasn't bad. Just a little rusty. I offered to sit in."

"Offered to sit in," Ralph echoed wonderingly.

"Yeah, I actually liked that song," Bill was saying. "Woulda been a good ballad."

Pam didn't catch Ralph's response. She was turning the corner on the next flight below. It was going to be a long dinner, she thought.

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And, even after several classes of good chianti, it was. She decided later the hardest part had been thinking about something else while she watched Bill eat tiramisu.

After trying, and failing, to concentrate on her grocery list, the in-tray on her desk, even, in desperation, baseball, she finally hit on an idea interesting enough to distract her from the forkfuls of chocolatey cream traveling up to...

She shook herself and pretended to listen to the boys' conversation while she wondered, where on Earth was she going to find Ralph a green v-neck pullover before Christmas.

-end-

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**Author's Note:**

All the facts in this story are true. It's just the story that's a lie.

If, like Ralph, you would like proof of Bill's presence in the ashram, go to my **Author** page. I've got a link there to the **actual photographic evidence**. At least, I've been told it's actual. You should never completely trust a spy.

_and… Roscoe_

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